Oh the Iron-y

Today's ordinary thing: ironing.

It's something I do rarely, poorly, and begrudgingly. The only iron I've ever liked was the tiny silver game piece in Monopoly. I thought it was cute to slide it around the corners, passing Go.

Talking to the octogenarians in my Writing Our Memories class this morning, I learned about the difficult work Alice did in her day. Every garment had to be ironed. Irons were heated on the stove; she had three. Flat, heavy things called sad irons.

This ironing sadness can be avoided. I once read that if you wear wrinkled clothes around for ten minutes, and wear ironed clothes around for ten minutes, they pretty much look the same. But there's another way to avoid hating this chore. It can be done with a new mindset. So I poured water into the little chamber, pressed "on," opened the curtains, lit incense, and played Enya's Paint with Stars while I pressed and swiveled. It was a rather, er - warming - experience.

What thoughts does an iron bring to mind? What is your relationship to household chores you dislike? What's your least favorite chore?

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